DecisionConsequences
by Simon920
Summary: What if Brian might be positive?


Title: Decision/Reaction

Author: Simon

Pairing: Brian

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Brian is faced with the possibility of being positive

Warnings: illness

Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Archive: Moonshadow Tribe and ATP

Feedback: Hell, yes. 

**Decision/Reaction**

The fact that he had actually rang the bell should have been enough to alert Vic that Brian had something on his mind, either that or something was seriously upsetting him. He hadn't rung the bell in at least a decade. Usually he'd just walk in or, in the unlikely event that the door was locked, use his copy to open the door himself. He didn't ring the bell. There was no reason, he was family.

"...Brian?"

Brian had found him at the kitchen table reading the Gazette, second cup of coffee beside him along with his meds for the morning. He had squeezed the thin shoulder then asked, "Am I interrupting something? Is Deb here?"

"She's at the store and all I'm doing is the crossword. What's a five letter word for lizard?"

"Gecko."

"That's it." Writing the letters in the boxes, Vic watched Brian out of the corner of his eye but knew there was no point in asking why he had come. He would tell in his own time or not at all. "Want some coffee?"

"Sure." He went to the cabinet, getting himself a mug, his favorite one, in fact. It was the one with the picture of the dodo at the Carnegie Museum on it that Deb had bought him after Michael had told her about Brian's report of the animal's extinction in one of their classes over fifteen years ago. Brian insisted that had nothing to do with his fondness for the old thing, he maintained that it was the perfect size for him. No one believed him. No one cared, they just made sure that no one else used it, that it was always in the cabinet for him and it was the one he always reached for.

"How's the new agency doing? That working out?"

"It seems to be coming along."

That was all Brian said. It was all he needed to say to tell Vic knew that the new place would be a success, Brian would be a success. Again. He knew that Brian was studying him, almost staring at him. After a couple minutes of them both sipping their coffee and filling in crossword squares Brian asked, "You feeling alright?"

That was odd, Vic knew that Brian kept tabs, but he'd never actually come out and asked him how he felt.

"Yes, pretty good. The new beta blockers seem to be doing their job." He was looking at Brian curiously. Brian never made small talk, never asked a random question. "What brings that up?"

He gave a slight shrug, leaning back against the counter, still standing. "I wanted to ask you something, but I'd like it to stay between us. I don't want you saying anything to Michael or Deb."

Vic put his pen down, expecting the worse. "If that's what you want, of course."

"I was tested last week, they want to repeat the test."

The already quiet room became quieter. Vic's first thought was that it was like the strained silence you get in a funeral home when people come to visit the bereaved. Vic stared at Brian, Brian stared into his coffee. "It could be a false positive. It could..."

He was cut off, brusquely. "Yeah. Whatever. Look, I'm going to do something and I know that it's going to piss everyone off, but I want you to know why I'm doing it so you can tell them later."

"Alright."

He spoke calmly, his mind made up, his decision set, his eyes now on Vic. "I'm going to dump Justin and then I'm leaving Pittsburgh. I want to deal with this my own way without any shit from anyone."

"And you don't want Justin to go through it with you, I take it—or anyone else."

"It's my problem." He looked a challenge, almost defying Vic to tell him he was making the wrong decision.

"...You know what I'm going to say. If this turns out to be what you think it is, you'll need people around. I know."

One of the special things between Vic and Brian was that they talked without the bullshit that most people threw up to dodge other people or honesty or whatever they wanted to avoid. They didn't bother with the games, they simply said what they thought and the affection between them, their history allowed it.

"I couldn't stand that."

"What? Hurting the people you know love you? Your leaving will hurt them, Brian. Running away will hurt them. Forcing Justin..."

"I won't put Justin through this."

"You can't do this alone."

Brian put the cup down in the sink, placing it carefully, pausing then rinsing it out and drying it on a kitchen towel hanging by the counter and slipping it into the pocket of his coat.

"Vic, I have to do this my way." His voice was still quiet, still calm, still firm.

"He'll want to be there. He'll want to help you."

A slight headshake and then another quiet, "No."

"When are you going to find out?"

"I just had the blood test, I should know in a couple of days." A ghost of a smile. "They said they'd ask for the results STAT."

Brian made a move to leave, Vic stood, gently putting his hand on his arm. "It's not a death sentence, even if you're positive, you'll have years. It may never go full blown and if it does there are all kinds of treatments that will be ready when you need them."

Vic had known Brian as long as Michael and Deb had and in over sixteen years he'd only seen Brian reach his limit twice. The first time had been when he was fifteen and his father had done a particularly nasty job on him, the other was when he was in the hospital corridor after the prom bashing. This was the third time. The first two, Vic had held him, letting him release the pain, letting him have the time and the privacy in his arms to center himself, able to face the other. Larger, younger, stronger, Brian had gripped Vic's back and shoulders for support, his breathing harsh. This time Brian stood alone, his head slightly bowed, all his attention focused on a spot only he could see somewhere around the third step leading to the second floor. A long couple of minutes later he found his voice again.

"You know what I thought when the doctor told me? 'The inevitable has happened.'"

"Brian..."

"No, It's OK, it was bound to happen. It was. I mean—it was. I knew it, I just, you know, I just thought..."

"What about Justin? Has he been tested?"

Brian nodded. "We were tested at the same time, the doctor told me that he's OK." His mind seemed to go elsewhere. "I was always careful. I really thought that I was careful. I always used a condom, always. I've never done it raw. Ever. I never have. I thought..." He was close to breaking down. "After he told me I went numb. You know?" Vic nodded. He knew. "I think I spoke normally and asked the right questions and all of that, but I couldn't feel anything. Afterwards I went out to my car and I didn't notice that I'd forgotten to put on my coat, I was carrying it." It was about twenty degrees out. "Jesus, Vic. I don't want to die."

"Brian you know that..."

"And I'll be fucked before I live like..."

"Like me and Ben?"

"Are you going to tell me that it's not that bad?" Brian raised his hand to cup the old man's jaw in a gentle move shaking his head as he did so. He held Vic's face for a few seconds turned and walked out the door, closing it quietly behind him.

Vic went back to the kitchen table and his now cold cup of coffee. Brian was probably right, as far as he'd taken it. The way he lived—had lived for years— it was almost inevitable, bound to happen and he really wasn't all that surprised, but to shut everyone out, to leave wasn't the way.

His first impulse was to tell Deb. She'd be home soon, but he'd promised not to. He'd promised not to tell anyone yet and it was Brian's call, whether he agreed with it or not. It had to be. Brian would deal with this however it worked best for him.

Well, no, that wasn't true. Brian would deal with this however he decided and it very likely wouldn't be what was best for him. Brian would try to protect the people he cared about and his way of doing that was to not allow them to know what was happening. They wouldn't be hurt, they wouldn't see him sicken or die. Yes, they would worry if he disappeared and they could shake their heads and cover their concern with anger and hurt at how he was being a self centered asshole again and then, after it was over Vic would be the one to tell them what the real story had been.

Justin—poor Justin.

Brian had said that he was negative and that was good, but poor Justin.

He loved Brian; he had made that clear for years now. Everyone knew, it was hardly a secret. Everyone knew that Brian, in his own limited way, as much as he could, returned the feelings and both accepted his limitations in this.

Vic's first thoughts were that Brian was misguided in thinking that walking out on the boy—no, that was wrong, he wasn't a boy anymore—would somehow protect him from being hurt. Then he began to really think what would happen if Justin were to go over to the loft one day to find it empty or if Brian picked a fight at Woody's or Babylon or at the diner and stormed out, never to return. Justin would be angry, he would be hurt, his heart would be broken, he would blame himself, try to understand why it had happened and then he would...what? What would he do?

Sooner or later he would start to get over it. He would meet other men, he would, given time, move on.

He would, he would move on.

Brian, as far as he went, was right. If he wanted to spare Justin the pain, he had to leave. It would be the only way to stop Justin from insisting on taking care of him, smothering him with concern and solicitation and offers of help.

He would move on.

They would all move on, whether they had the closure of seeing Brian fight and possibly—probably—lose or not.

Vic started to think what it would mean to Brian. He had always invested most of his self-value, his self worth in his looks, his body, his ability to get any man he set his eyes on. That, along with his intelligence and his business talents were how he defined himself, ever since Vic had known him, that was the thing about Brian that could be counted on.

He would lose his looks, that razor sharp mind of his would dull. At some point his job would have to be sacrificed.

The more he though about it, the more he realized that Brian could have made the right decision. At least for him. When the call came, and Vic knew that it would, he would do whatever Brian wanted. He would tell the family or not, he would give out an address or a phone number if that was what Brian asked him to do.

It was Brian's call and he was Brian's friend. He would keep the secret like he had promised.

Letting himself into the loft a few of hours later, Brian was glad for once that Justin hadn't moved back in. He wanted silence. He wanted to be alone. He needed to think about what had happened—what would probably happen now that he'd made his decision.

He never did remember where he had spent those three or four hours after he left Vic.

He was glad that he had told Vic. He'd had to tell someone; there was something in him that had to let someone know what was going on. Vic was the only one he could stand to be with right now, he was the one Brian knew would take it with the least amount of hysterics and make no demands, offer no condemnation or unwanted advice.

He got himself a bottle of water, sitting on the couch he'd bought as a replacement for the one he'd sold. He sat down and began to plan.

He would leave but he had to decide where he would go. He would need to be near good medical facilities and he wanted to be in a place where he could have quiet. There were things that he wanted to do and he didn't want distractions. There would come a time when he wouldn't be able to care for himself, so he would need a place large enough for someone to live with him.

He would have to call Cynthia—no, he didn't. He would call Fred; his second in command at his agency and tell him that, he would tell him that he was taking a vacation. No, he was taking a leave of absence. He was taking a leave of absence because he wasn't feeling well. No. He was taking a leave of absence because he needed some time off. He would be traveling and would be in touch through Cynthia. He would leave his e-mail account open and would check in. If there were any major problems, emergencies, they could get him through Cynthia, but only real emergencies or he'd delete them.

He would make sure that his position at the agency was legally protected.

He would update his will.

He would make a living will.

He would not use Melanie. She might tell whether it was protected under client/lawyer confidentiality or not.

The loft would be sold, there was reason to keep it and he would need the money. The contents would go. Again.

He would still need the new jeep, at least for now.

Gus was too young to notice whether he was there or not.

Lindsay would be alright. He would see that she had money deposited in an account for her use.

The college fund he'd started for Gus would be added to.

Mikey would be angry and hurt that he hadn't been told by Brian himself that he was making a break from Pittsburgh, but would understand eventually. Probably.

Debbie would believe that her assessment of him being an asshole was right. She would look after the others. Later she would cry.

The boys, Ted, and Emmett would think he was off tricking or something. Maybe they would think he'd found true love or wanted to see the world. When they found out they would shake their heads and not be surprised.

His mother and sister almost didn't rate a thought. Joan would pray. Claire would be angry that he'd left them no money. Neither would really care and their worst thoughts and assumptions about him would be confirmed.

Justin would move on. He would. He was young enough to get past it. He would be angry and hurt but it would pass, but he would be alright. Eventually.

He would leave as soon as he could. He would only take what he needed; everything else would be sold or given to Goodwill. It didn't matter.

He turned these thoughts over and over in his mind for two days. He didn't go to work, he barely ate or slept. He did no drugs and only drank water and fruit juices.

When the phone rang he checked the called ID. He refused all calls, forwarding them to voicemail and then not listening to them.

At the end of the second day he took the call. He nodded, thanked the man on the other end and hung up the phone.

The door buzzer went off but he didn't answer it.

He let the phone ring.

He didn't want to talk to anyone.

He didn't want to see anyone.

He was positive.

He was thirty-two years old.

He was going to die.

He stayed in the loft for two weeks, alone, spending the time perfecting the details of his plan. He would leave as soon as he had everything in place. It wouldn't take long, maybe a few more days or so. Not much longer than that.

"We haven't seen him in almost a month, where the Hell is he?" Lindsay was struggling with Gus, cranky because he wanted to see his father and go on the promised outing together. He was starting to cry and it would be hard to calm him down without Brian here, now that he had his mind set on seeing him. He was his father's son stubborn as the day was long.

"How the fuck should I know? There's no answer when I call him, he doesn't return his e-mails and he's changed the code to get into his building. I even called his work, but they either say he's in a meeting or that he isn't in. They've been saying that all week."

"He said that he'd take Gus this weekend. You know that Brian tries not to disappoint him, he really is good about that."

"The asshole probably forgot." That would be typical of Brian as far as Mel was concerned. Sure, he'd been getting better about spending time with the toddler, but he was still as reliable as a weather forecast.

Lindsay was getting her own coat on. She'd take Gus to the park. It wasn't as good as Brian, but it was better than letting him sit and cry. "He wouldn't forget Gus. Just last week he made that big deposit into the college fund—that was ten thousand dollars. Like I said, something must have come up."

"Right, about ten inches of it."

They exchanged a look. Probably.

Justin was going to try again. Brian had mentioned that he might be out of town, but that had been three weeks ago and he hadn't heard a word since that night at Woody's when they were all shooting pool. It was a business trip to try to land a few new clients, Brian had said that he'd be gone a few days or a week, that his schedule would be really nuts and that he might not have time to call. He shouldn't worry; he'd let him know when he got home.

Justin had complained, well actually he had pouted. Brian had told him just a week before that they would get away together, maybe for the weekend, to celebrate that the new agency was doing well. The business trip would mean that the weekend would have to be postponed. It was like Vermont all over again. Justin could just picture it. Brian would go on his 'business trip' then Justin would walk into the loft and find him screwing the trick du jour—again. They were supposed to be past that bullshit.

Goddamnit. He wasn't going through that. He wasn't. Fuck him.

"You said that we could go away this weekend. You told me that you didn't have anything on your calendar until Tuesday. Damnit, Brian, you told me that two days ago."

Brian had straightened up from the pool table, fixed him with one of his glares—like it mattered. Justin had seen it before, lots of times. "Something came up."

"Right, who was he?"

Brian looked genuinely angry, not just pissed or annoyed. "What I do and who I fuck isn't any of your business. If that's a problem for you either deal with it or stop wasting my time."

"...I'm wasting your time? Go to Hell, Brian."

He was getting angrier; both of them were, in fact. Michael put his hand on Brian's arm to distract him. "Brian, calm down. He didn't mean it."

Brian didn't even bother looking Michael. "I did. If he doesn't like the way I live, he can fuck off. It's not like it would be the first time for him to cut and run."

That was it, a fucking low blow and he was tired of the bullshit involved with day-to-day dealings with Brian. "Fuck you, asshole."

Justin didn't say anything else, just the mundane curse before he was taking his jacket off the back of his chair and heading out the door, but angry as he was, he realized that there was something odd about what had just happened. He couldn't put his finger on it, but he knew that Brian was serious and he was furious, really angry. This wouldn't blow over in a day or two like most of their arguments did. This one somehow went deeper and he didn't know why.

After two blocks he's taken a few breaths and was a little less mad. Brian would get over it, so would he. They always had before, even when that thing with Ethan happened. Brian would come around.

They would snark, make some small talk and then, in their own way, make up and things would be fine again. They would take a trip together in a week or two, it would be alright.

It wasn't that big a deal.

But it had been three weeks, Hell it was over three weeks with no word and Justin was starting to worry a little. Or a lot.

The jeep wasn't parked in its usual spot when he got to the loft. Shit. That was when he saw the sign on the building. It was one of those standard realtor signs that they put up in front of a house or something.

"Loft condominium for sale."

It had a phone number and an agent's name. Jesus, it was listed with his mother. He pulled out his cel. He spoke without preamble.

"When did Brian ask you to sell the loft?"

"Justin? I didn't hear from him, not directly." Jenn knew what was going on, well sort of anyway. She knew that Brian had been away for a few weeks and that Justin hadn't heard, despite his insisting that everything was fine. "I got a call from his lawyer who told me that he had been instructed by Brian to put the place on the market and that he had specified that I was to have the exclusive. It just happened yesterday—you didn't know?" She said the last without thinking. Damn.

"If I knew I wouldn't be asking." He was in full snark mode. "Do you have a number to reach him?" Brian's cel hadn't been on since that night at Woody's, either.

She hesitated a moment. She didn't, not really. "Sweetie, I have the number of his lawyer so that I can contact him about any interest in the loft, but I don't have a way to get a hold of Brian right now." Damn Brian. It was never easy where he was concerned. It was always complicated.

"Can I call the lawyer? Could you? I just want to make sure he's OK and why the fuck is he selling the loft? Is he coming back? Is he looking for another place?"

Jenn sighed to herself She knew that this would happen when Justin found out. "I'll call the lawyer, he said that he could forward messages."

"...Forward messages? Where's Brian?" His voice was rising. He was close to panic. Goddamn Brian.

"Honey, I don't know. Honestly I don't. I'll call the man and ask him to get in touch with you. You have your cel? Good. I'll ask him to call you."

The lawyer, a Mister Browning, called Justin's cel within about twenty minutes. He was polite and pleasant, promising to forward any messages to his client but refusing to disclose any information about his whereabouts or how he could be contacted directly. He did add that Mr. Kinney seemed to be in perfectly good health and that he seemed fine when he had last spoken to him. No, he couldn't tell Justin where he was or what his plans might be. Were there any messages?

"Could you please ask him to call me?"

"I'll pass that on to him. Does he have your number?"

"Yes—well, you'd better take it just in case."

The man had hung up. He probably did give Brian the message. Justin never heard back.

It was Friday night, pasta and wine at Deb's with the family. Gus was seven now, tall and thin for his age, smart and handsome. He looked like Brian, but they all knew that he would. His eyes, especially, were his father's, along with his demeanor. He had that same reserve and self-possession Brian used to have, but it was a bit disconcerting in a child. He seemed much older than he really was.

Gus came in the front door with Lindsay and Mel, still wearing his soccer uniform.

Debbie smothered him with one of her hugs. He suffered it politely. "Hey, how did you do?"

"OK." He usually loved talking about his games. Tonight he was subdued.

"Gus scored the winning goal, you should have seen him!" Mel gave him an extra hug that he slipped away from to turn on the TV.

"Sweetie, if you want to watch while we're getting dinner ready, could you go up to the motorcycle room?" He nodded, switching the set back off and heading up the stairs.

Vic was grating the cheese. "What's wrong?"

Lindsay was putting the coats on the hooks by the door. "I don't know but he's been down for a couple of weeks now. He doesn't want to play soccer, he says that he hates school; he won't even play with his friends. All he does is mope around." She came back to the kitchen. "His teacher called today and said that he's becoming a discipline problem, too. He's never been a problem like that."

"What does he say when you ask him?  
  
"He says that he's fine and won't talk about it."

Justin had been working on the salad during this. "You mind if I try?"

He knocked gently before going into Michael's old room. Gus was standing staring at the old snapshot of Brian and Michael back in high school, smiling, laughing on a summer day. Their arms around one another's shoulders, the sun was shining.

"Do you remember him, Gus?"

The child nodded. "He was tall and he smelled like cigarettes and sometimes he would carry me on his shoulders. I'd almost hit my head on the ceiling when he did that. He was really strong." He kept looking at the old picture. "And you were usually with him."

"I was with him a lot." He pulled the desk chair out, sitting beside where Gus was standing. "Do you miss him?"

"No."

Of course, he barely remembered him. Justin remembered him though. "I miss him, all the time."

"I don't. He left us all and didn't even tell anyone why or where he was going. Mom cries sometimes because of him."

This was bound to happen at some point with Gus. It had to sooner or later. "Maybe he couldn't tell us why he had to go away. Maybe he had a good reason for leaving."

"Mama says that he was an asshole and all he ever thought about was himself and that she hopes that I don't grow up to be like him."

Christ, fucking Melanie. "I don't feel like that. I miss him and I worry that he's alright." Gus looked at him for a second before turning back to the photo. "I know that he loved you a lot."

"No he didn't. If he did he would call me or write me a letter or an e-mail or something. He doesn't care."

Justin put his hand carefully on the boy's shoulder. "I know how much he loves you. I saw how much he worried about you and how much he gave up so that you would be happy."

"If he loved me he'd be here." He was as stubborn as Brian could be.

"I'm sure that he wants to be here, Gus, he just can't." Maybe it was true. It could be. Five years with no word, it was getting hard to think anything but the worst. There had been yearly contributions to Gus' college fund; the legal limit of ten thousand dollars would be deposited every December. His own tuition had continued to be paid on time, through the law firm. If the girls or Deb needed something for the house, something big, a check would arrive, again from the lawyer. He would politely refuse all questions and say that he would pass on any messages, but no word ever came from Brian. No one knew where he was or why he had left.

There were ideas, of course, and rumors. There was a belief that he was in a witness protection program because Stockwell had taken out a contract on him. There was a rumor that he was traveling the world. Some people thought that he had simply gotten tired of Pittsburgh and moved to London or New York or San Francisco. Some people insisted that he was sick or dead. A lot of people seemed to simply forget about him or lump him in with the other local myths.

No one knew for sure.

"Do you think he'll ever come back, Justin?"

"I don't know, Gus. I hope that he does."

"I don't."

Michael had taken Brian's disappearance hard. No matter what anyone said to him, no matter what people would do for him or who he spoke to, no seemed able to help him feel less abandoned.

He would walk into Woody's or Babylon expecting to see him standing there, beer in hand, ragging him about whatever he had decided to tease Michael about that day. He would hear the door open in the comic shop, half hoping to see Brian walk in one day, just out if the blue. Some day he knew it would happen. The door would open and Brian would walk in, cool as ever. Nonchalant, he'd walk in, sit on the couch, his long legs stretched out and say something like "Hey Mikey, want to get some food?" They'd laugh and Brian would get up and hug him and they'd have one of those really good kisses they used to share once in a while and they'd walk over to the diner and everyone would make a big deal and Brian would pretend to be pissed while secretly loving every minute. They would eat and go back to the loft and talk and Brian would tell him where he'd been all this time and what he'd been doing and that now he was back for good.

Except the loft was gone now, bought by a young couple of breeders with a baby.

"Do you think he just got tired of us?"

"Michael, if Brian was tired of us he would have let us know and besides, he wouldn't have gotten tired of Gus or Justin."

"But they had that big fight that last night at Woody's, maybe that was like the final straw for some reason or something." Michael had that look about him, the one where he couldn't believe that Brian could, would do anything to hurt him without any explanation. No matter what anyone said, he hadn't been able to accept that Brian was likely gone for good and unwilling to accept the most likely reason.

Ben suspected why Brian had gone, though he had no proof. He had seen him one afternoon when he had stopped by their old apartment looking for Michael and asked to use the bathroom. The door was open a few inches and Ben had accidentally seen him looking at the meds in the cabinet, studying them with a look close to terror on his face. He hadn't asked and Brian, of course, hadn't said anything but it had made enough of an impression that he remembered it. Brian didn't strike Ben as one who scared easily and he had looked scared to Hell.

Once Ben had tried to bring up the possibility and Michael had cut him off, refusing to consider the possibility or to discuss it then or ever.

Years went by and Michael never stopped looking up when the door opened or the phone rang, but it was never Brian.

He and Ben would talk about it endlessly until even Ben would just roll his eyes whenever the name came up. One day Ben told him that he wanted to move. The neighborhood they lived in had undergone gentrification and the rent had doubled. He said that there were decent places still to be had over in Shadyside and that he wanted to make a change but Michael was afraid that if he moved he would miss the call he was waiting for. Michael kept checking the e-mail and the mailbox until Ben had enough and told him that it was time to put it to rest. He had found a place that he'd fallen in love with that was walking distance, well almost anyway, to C-MU. It was light with high ceilings and more space and it even had a small patch of garden where they could sit in the evening. He wanted to put down a deposit that night and Michael should go with him to make sure that it was alright with him.

Reluctantly he agreed. They went to look at the place and it was as Ben said that it was, large and bright and better than what they had for less money. Yes, they would take it.

When Brian came back he would be able to find Michael through either the store or the diner.

They moved two weeks later and Brian never showed up.

The letters were delivered to a post office box that Brian had set up in Vic's name before he'd left and on which he made the yearly payments. He had told Vic about it before he left and Vic would check it every few days at first, then every week. After the first year he would look in every two or three weeks, then it became once a month and now it was once in a while.

The letters would be there, usually. They would always be in care of Vic and addressed to the various family members. Vic had been asked to hold them until informed to do otherwise. The exceptions were the letters with just Vic's name on them. Those he would open and read when he knew he would be alone.

He would talk about how he was doing, the doctors he was seeing and the treatments. He told Vic about his life and the general area where he lived, that he was reasonably happy and keeping busy. In time, as the balance shifted, there was more talk about the doctors and less about the accounts he consulted on for several agencies, including his own.

He probably received his personal mail, but he never responded to it. The growing stack of letters Vic received for the others were held until permission was given to release them.

Vic had promised not to say anything and he didn't.

At family dinners when the conversation would turn, as it always did, to Brian he would keep quiet.

It was years before Justin could really believe that Brian wouldn't come back. It took a long time before he would go back to Babylon and the memories he had of the last night at Woody's remained too painful for him to return there.

He was out of school, having graduated with honors and only one semester late from his suspension over the Stockwell incident. He had several job offers and decided to go with the one in San Francisco at a large graphics firm that did posters for films and concerts. His starting pay was enough to live on and he could still, by being careful, make payments on what he insisted he owed Brian for his schooling.

Every month he would send a check for two hundred dollars care of the lawyer. After the first check arrived in the paneled offices of Browning and Browning Justin was called and informed that the debt had been forgiven and that there was no need to send any more. His check would be returned to him the next day.

Was Mr. Kinney available? Could he speak to him? No, they had received instructions by phone as to how to handle the matter. No, they weren't at liberty to disclose Mr. Kinney's whereabouts, they were sorry.

Unless he heard from Mr. Kinney personally, as far as he was concerned the debt was to be paid back, as per their original agreement. He never heard from Brian.

Every month the checks were sent. Every month, unknown to Justin, they were deposited into an escrow account which had been opened in his name and which would be turned over to him at either the discretion of the loaner or the death of Mr. Kinney, whichever should come first.

Justin had, of course, agonized why it had happened and though he had hit on the right answer, he dismissed it. He and Brian had been tested together and had been negative. He knew that he was clean and Brian had told him that he was healthy, too. That wasn't it. It couldn't be, not when he left anyway.

He had probably just gotten a really good job offer somewhere and taken it, deciding to move on and make a new start.

That was it.

But—they had been doing so well. They were closer than they had been, they didn't fight much, Brian had his new agency and Justin was back in school. They had been happy, Justin had been happy anyway and he thought, he had really thought that Brian was, too.

It didn't make sense.

It just didn't make sense. They had been happy and –fuck, it just didn't make sense.

One night at Deb's Emmett had asked him, quietly, whether he thought that Brian was still alive.

He was, Justin was certain of it. There was no question.

He was just, he was, well, he was just doing something and when he was done he'd be back.

"Do you really believe that?"

Justin had shrugged. "I used to, now I don't know. I guess he's really done with us." It was said matter-of-factly, as though he had made his peace with it, or at least accepted it as fact.

About two weeks later Justin went back to Woody's with the family. He had a couple of beers and played pool. He smiled and had an OK time. He went back once in a while after that, the spell was broken and he could sit at one of the tables without a problem, he just didn't really want to. Not long after that, he left for California.

Brian had kept track of his friends. There were a lot of ways to do it, really. It wasn't all that hard.

Vic told him everything he knew about the others. He did it with a minimum of fuss and with humor. He would send snaps of Gus and Justin and the others when he had them and he would make sure that Brian knew about any big events or problems involving any of the family members.

Brian knew about Gus' soccer trophies and his good grades. He was kept informed when he fell off his bike and broke his arm and when he needed stitches for falling out of a tree. He sent money when the house needed a new roof and when the car needed a new transmission.

He paid for the new furnace for Deb and Vic and for a new window for Michael's store when a drunk drove through it one night.

Of course he paid for PIFA and would regularly go on line to see student works. Three times portraits of him were on the site. Justin's technique was improving.

When Daphne was married, despite what she had told him all those years ago at their first meeting, he had made sure that the honeymoon was on him. Her father finally admitting that Mr. Kinney had spoken to him while he was at work a few months before the big day and convinced him that he really did want to do it, that it would be his way of thanking her for everything his daughter had done for him.

What had she done? Her father was instantly suspicious.

She had held Justin's hand when he couldn't and he was grateful.

Deb wondered what she could have done differently. She wondered if there was anything she could have done to keep Brian around.

She too suspected what had caused him to leave. It would be like him to disappear rather than face the people who loved him if he thought that he'd be subjected to pity from them. He wouldn't take that and she knew it. He would cut himself off, live alone, and die alone before he'd accept what he saw as pity.

The others thought, or pretended to think that he had found a new job or true love or something. She knew better. He had true love right here and if he'd gotten a new job he would have been the first to subtly let the others know that he was wanted somewhere for a lot of money and with a lot of power. Besides, he had just gotten his own agency off the ground before he left and he would never have just walked away from that—and it was still going, despite his not being there. Those people were getting instructions and guidance from somewhere.

And Brian wouldn't run away unless he was dealing with something he didn't think he could beat and there was only one thing that qualified that Debbie could think of. She noticed that Vic got quiet when Brian was mentioned and she saw that he knew more than he was letting on. Brian had always liked Vic and he might well have gone to talk to him about whatever was going on. Sure, she asked, but Vic evaded her and that was when she knew for sure. Vic always played it straight with her, always. He knew and he had promised not to tell.

Fine.

So she had called Carl a month or so after he had disappeared told him what she knew and asked him to find out what he could. A few weeks later he called her to say that what she had suspected was right. Brian had tested positive and had chosen to disappear rather than allow his family and friends deal with it directly. He was still involved with his agency, but only from a distance. He technically still owned it and it generated a good income for him and allowed him to keep his medical benefits.

Where was he?

He had gone to the Keys, evidently wanting the warmth. He had a nice condo there and lived quietly alone. He had the address and a phone number if she wanted it.

No, she thanked him but declined.

Sooner or later she'd be told, but what she already knew was confirmed and the knowing broke her heart.

Joan and Claire had dinner together every Sunday. Sometimes they would go eat at Claire's, sometimes at Joan's. Sometimes they would go out someplace local though not too often because the bar bill would get too high and they both had to watch their pennies.

Damn Brian. He had plenty of money. They had seen that the fancy place he lived in had sold for half a million dollars and he had that fancy job, too. He would never share it, though, not him.

In fact they never heard from him after that misunderstanding with little Johnny, the poor darling. Well, Brian was the adult and he should have been the one to forgive and forget, he really should have, after all.

Well, if he was too lazy to pick up the phone, the Hell with him.

When Gus was about twelve he thought he saw his father outside the school.

He had third period gym and they were in the track unit, running laps and pretending to care about jumping hurdles. His mother had told him a lot about his father, the invisible man. She had told him that he had been this hot shit soccer star and that he had lettered in track, too, that he had used his athletic abilities along with his mondo grades to get himself a scholarship so that he could get away from his abusive home life and blah blah blah.

Well, hot shit for him.

His other Mom made some slight effort to keep her mouth shut, but it wasn't hard to see that she had hated him. Whatever. That wouldn't be hard since the asshole had walked out on everyone.

Gus had some vague memories about his father from when he was little, more impressions than actual memories. He thought he could remember a tall man who had been nice to him and given him piggyback rides and who usually showed up with Justin. He knew that they had been a couple and that was fine. Hell, raised by two mothers made having a gay father almost a requirement. He didn't care about that. Besides, Justin was OK.

One day he had simply disappeared and that was fine, too.

Gus figured that he was probably living the high life in London or Paris or Tahiti. Or dead. One or the other.

That would be the only real explanation as to why he had just walked out and never come back. If Gus ever had a kid, and he wasn't sure that he would, he knew he'd never do that, disappear on them. That was crap, it was lame, it sucked and he hated his father for pulling that on him.

One day he was there, the next he wasn't. Fuck that.

He really hated him.

There were some pictures of him around. Well, they weren't actually around, they were stashed in albums and drawers, but he knew where they were. Everyone was right; he did look like his father. He could detach himself from anything other than comparing the face and body type and see that he would be almost a dead ringer when he was older. OK, that wasn't half bad, his father had been hot. He had been tall and built and a looker, alright. He could get anyone he wanted. Michael had told him that one night at one of Aunt Deb's parties and Gus thought that Michael probably had a thing for his Dad, which explained the weirdness between him and Justin.

Well, whatever.

He missed having a Dad and when he was being honest with himself he hoped that he was having a hell of a time somewhere but he had a bad feeling, the more that he thought about it, that it was more likely that he was dead. Everything everyone had ever told him about his father was that he had loved him from the night he was born, that he had done a lot for him and that he had pretty much always been there if he needed something. Justin told him about how he had seen his Dad write a check that emptied the last money from his bank account when Mom had told him that they were short that month.

So when he saw the man sitting on the bench watching his class while he pretended to read a book, he looked pretty closely while he pretended to ignore the guy. It was his dad, it had to be. He looked like the pictures, maybe older, but it was him and he was staring at Gus.

The thing that got to him, to Gus, was that he didn't look healthy. His color wasn't all that good and he was thin. He just looked—sick like those people you see sometimes in the supermarket or when you go to the doctor's. You know the kind, the ones you sort of move away from because it's just too weird to be around them.

Shit, even at twelve Gus knew what that meant to a gay man.

His father was dying, probably from AIDS because that was what gay men died from and had wanted to see him before he kicked.

No one had ever called Gus dumb and he knew as soon as he saw him sitting there. In fact, what the Hell, he was about to go over and say 'hello', but the fucking gym teacher blew his fucking whistle and called the class in. Gus ignored him, but the old fart came over and took his arm and made some snarky comment about how he was a member of the class and the rules applied to him, too.

Asshole.

He had gotten changed as fast as he could and gone back out to where his father had been sitting, but he was gone.

In all the time he'd not had a father, that was the only time he cried about it. He'd been sitting there watching him and couldn't even wait ten Goddamn minutes. He wiped the tears with the back of his hand took a deep breath and stopped them fast. No one was going to call him a little faggot.

He wanted to have a father; he wanted to know why the Hell he'd left and why he wouldn't even write him a damn letter. He wanted to hit him and yell at him and ask him who the fuck he thought he was to hurt all the people who loved him and he wouldn't get the chance. He wanted his father to be at his stupid track meets and sitting in the audience when he got his sports letters. He wanted him to be on the other end of the phone when he called and he wanted to know that his father gave a rat's ass about him other than just sending money.

Fuck money, he wanted his father.

Sick or not, he wanted him around where he could talk to him.

So he had fucking AIDS, so did a lot of the people Gus knew. So he was going to die, so was everyone. What made him so special? He didn't want people to see him sick? Screw that.

...That was when Gus realized that Brian was dying now and was making the rounds, saying goodbye in his own way. He was getting his own—what did Emmett call it?—closure. That had to be it.

He was dying and he was dealing in his own way.

Gus was standing by the empty the bench when he saw Brian in the woods mostly hidden by the thick brush, maybe fifty feet away, sitting on a rock, smoking a cigarette, watching him. He walked straight over.

"You're my father, aren't you?"

"Yes, I believe that I am."

"Did you want to talk to me or just watch me?"

"I was hoping that you would be willing to talk with me for a while."

The bell rang in the school, signaling the next class starting. The both looked toward the sound. "It doesn't matter. I can cut."

Brian smiled, "You get that from my side of the family."

Gus sat on the rock, a foot or two from Brian. "I look like you."

"Yes, you always did."

"So did you leave because you got sick?"

Brian pulled out another cigarette, lighting it before he answered. Gus was going to say something about how it wasn't good for him, but realized that it didn't matter. He nodded to Gus' question. "I wanted to let you know that I didn't forget about you or any shit like that. I didn't want you to watch me, you know. I thought that would suck." He smiled to himself. "It does suck, as a matter of fact."

"So you came back to say goodbye or some shit like that?"

"And to ask you to do something for me." He took another deep drag. "I want you to tell the others that you saw me and that I wrote them letters. Vic has them and he'll make sure everyone gets them when the time is right."

"You mean when you're dead?"

"Pretty much, yes."

That was a little too real for Gus. This whole thing was too weird for him. He was a twelve year old kid, for shit's sake and his father was asking—after nine Goddamn years—to tell his extended family that he was dying, had died, and that he had come back and that he had loved them and whatever the else pile of crap he wanted Gus to tell them. Oh and he had written some notes they might want to take a look at.

"I think what you did is bullshit, I just want you to know that." Gus' voice was surprisingly strong, all things considered. Brian was looking at him with seemingly mild interest. "You fucking left town, you ran away and didn't even leave a fucking phone number—what the fuck was that?"

That small smile again. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"Maybe to you. Everyone else was scared shitless for you and then they were pissed and then...."

"Then they moved on, right?"

"...Yeah. You were history."

Brian nodded. "That was the idea. I didn't want them to have to go through it....You understand that?"

"I guess...no. You fucking left and didn't tell anyone. You fucking ran out on everyone. Mom used to cry about it and Justin was—he was really upset. And the others were really messed up about it."

"Gus, I wanted them to remember me the way I was. I couldn't deal with them watching me get sick. I was having enough trouble dealing with it just myself."

Gus was silent, staring at the ground. It made sense. It sucked, but it made sense in a way. It was stupid, though. His friends loved him, at least Vic and Mom told him they all did. If you love someone you take care of them. You didn't let them be sick alone. Besides, he wanted his father with him. He wanted all that stuff they didn't get to do together. "Why did you come back now? I mean, why not next month or something?"

"I don't think I'll be around next month."

Gus took a really good look. Even he could see that might be true. He looked like shit. He was really thin and his skin was sort of gray. He seemed cold, even though it was a pretty warm day.

"Are you going to see the others?"

"No, I just wanted to make sure that you're alright. You and Vic. And I don't want you to tell anyone you saw me until I leave, OK? I mean it. I'm not up to dealing with all of that."

Gus didn't answer, but they both knew that he'd do what Brian asked. "How old were you when you figured out that you were gay?"

Brian hadn't really expected that, not today. No matter. "I think I always suspected. I guess I really knew when I was about twelve. You think you might be?"

"I think so, yeah."

That ghost smile again. "You're not just trying to uphold family tradition, are you?"

That earned a smile in return. "Maybe but I doubt it."

"Talk to Justin and Vic. And Ben. They can tell you anything you need to know. They'll do well by you—in fact, tell them I said so." A pause. "You might want to keep it quiet around your Aunt Claire and your grandmother."

"No shit."

"Your Moms, they're OK, right?"

"Yeah, they both work now and they want to put an addition on the house and..."

"No, I mean, are they getting along, are they happy together?"

"They argue sometimes, but mostly, yeah, they're OK."

Brian threw his cigarette on the ground, grinding it out with his heel. "Good." He stood up, swaying slightly. "I'm going to take off, but I'm going to give you my number. Use it if you want, but don't give it to anyone else. It should be good for a few more weeks."

"Where are you going?"

"Back." He saw the look on his son's face. "Look, I don't want you to have to deal with this. That's why I left in the first place." He leaned forward and Gus thought for a moment that he was about to hug him or kiss him or something, but all he did was put his hand on his face in a small caress before starting to walk away. He paused. "You're going to be alright."

"Dad?"

That brought a smile, a small one. "Yes?"

"I'm glad you came here."

A small nod and he walked away and around the building.

Two months later Vic received a package from Browning and Browning Law Offices. He signed for it and sat with it at the kitchen table. He knew what would be in it, or at least he had a pretty good idea.

There would be some more letters, maybe some pictures, probably copies of some deeds and information about bank accounts and stocks and the like. There might even be a title to whatever he had been driving if it hadn't been sold already. No doubt they would hear about the will soon enough.

He heard the front door open, Deb was home from her shift. She found him sitting with the unopened box.

"What's that?"

"It's from Brian, his lawyers."

"It's over now?"

"Yes, I suppose it is."

"I'll call, have them all come over for dinner. Friday is soon enough."

"Yes, I suppose. Make sure you call Jennifer. She told me that Justin is here visiting this week." He opened the box, slowly, there was no hurry. In with the papers was something wrapped in tissue paper. Unwrapping it, they took the old mug, the one from the Carnegie Museum with the dodo on it and placed it on the shelf.

1/10/04

44


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